Katie Rose (3 page)

“Penelope, I don’t see why I have to participate in such nonsense. I think my hair looks fine as is.”

Jennifer scowled as Penelope approached with a pair of curling tongs in her mittened hand. Her sister looked like a woman on a mission and she determinedly held out the tongs, which glowed from the fire.

“Because your hair is as straight as a stick and totally unsuitable,” Penelope replied, not put off at all by Jennifer’s reluctance. “Curled bangs are all the rage, and you would look so much nicer with a little softness around your face. Now put your chin up.”

“She is right, dear,” Eve said, lending her support to Penelope’s cause. The parrot, a two-foot-high bird that screeched intermittently and pulled on young ladies’ hair, squawked in apparent agreement. Eve was forever trying to coax the bird to speak, but he remained as obstinately silent as ever, even as she offered him a nut. “And you do need to get out more, and meet some nice young men!” she continued. “The Rutherfords’ ball next month will be just the thing! I don’t know how you managed invitations, but all the right people attend, and all of the most eligible gentlemen. I daresay you will have a wonderful time.”

Jennifer stuck her tongue out at Penelope, but let her apply the little papers to her hair. “The only reason I’m going along with this is for business,” she said stiffly. “We were invited because Mary Forester sponsored us. We’ve gotten quite a few invitations due to her recommendations. She is a wonderful testimonial, and through her I can find quite a few rich new supporters. That makes great sense to me.”

“She is spreading the word all over town,” Winifred confirmed. Glancing up at Aunt Eve from the text of
The Law Review
, she continued in an emphatic tone, “By the time we get to the ball, everyone will have heard how successful our
performance
was.”

Jennifer peered up at her aunt, carefully watching her reaction. Aunt Eve offered the parrot another nut, then smiled at her nieces. “I think it’s so nice that you girls are entertaining yourselves with these theatricals. And what a clever idea! Who would have thought that a traditional evening entertainment would yield money? Most young ladies paint china or teach as governesses, but this is so much nicer. I daresay, even
Good Morals and Gentle Manners
would approve.”

Jennifer sighed in relief, and Winifred went back to her books. The bird watched suspiciously as Penelope applied the tongs to her sister’s hair, and a strange little hiss sounded in the worn parlor. Winifred sniffed, then glanced around the room, her face puckered.

“What is that odd smell? Aunt Eve, did you leave the teakettle burning again?”

Penelope gasped as smoke curled from the tongs. She quickly clamped down on the handle, forgetting her mitt, then screeched in pain. Dropping the handle of the tongs, she sucked on her finger, dancing from foot to foot.

“Will you get these things off me?” Jennifer attempted to do so herself, but only wound up with a scorched finger as well.

“I’m trying.” Penelope picked up the mitt and removed the tongs. Everyone heard her indrawn breath as she surveyed the damage.

“Oh, my heavens …” Winifred began, dropping her book. She stared at Jennifer, pity and sympathy written across her classic features.

“What? What’s wrong?” Jennifer gasped as she picked up Penelope’s mirror. “My hair! Look at it! Look what you’ve done! My poor hair!”

“I know! I guess the tongs were too hot!”

“But I thought you knew how to do this!”

“I saw Margaret Flemming do it, but I didn’t see how long she heated the tongs! Oh Jenny, I’m so sorry! Your beautiful hair!”

The sisters gathered around her consolingly, while Jennifer surveyed her burned curls. A sob tightened in her throat as she saw the frizzled ends and smelled the horrid stench. Not vain by any means, she was still female enough to feel dismay as her one real beauty lay destroyed, wrapped around the ends of the hateful tongs.

As her sisters and aunt commiserated with her, the door burst open and a blast of north wind came with it. Aunt Eve shivered and reached for her spectacles as a young man strode into the parlor. Penelope gasped, then looked again with renewed interest, while Winifred surveyed the new arrival shrewdly. Jennifer spun to face him, outraged, but something about his manner kept her from giving him a well-deserved dressing-down. His gaze swept across the four women.

“Sir, what is the meaning of this?” Aunt Eve asked sharply.

The man ignored her, turning intuitively to the woman he sought. “Which one of you is Miss Jennifer Appleton?” he demanded, although he was already staring right at her.

“I …” Her voice quavered. Somehow she managed to squeak, “I am Jennifer.”

“Good.” The man ignored the indignant squawking of the parrot. “I am Gabriel Forester, and I’ve just come from my mother. I understand you convinced her that you have some sort of powers, and that you can contact the dead. She even believes that you were able to speak to my father, and that his ghost appeared in this house! I think it shameful that you would take advantage of my mother’s grief, and I intend to expend every last ounce of energy required to see you exposed as a charlatan and a fake.”

He slammed a fist down on the table. Jennifer jumped, her heart in her throat. She glanced at Aunt Eve, but thankfully, her aunt seemed more bewildered than anything else. Her gaze swung back to Gabriel. Although she was terrified, a part of her was also fascinated. It didn’t escape her notice that Gabriel was extraordinarily handsome, almost angelic. He had dark wavy hair, an astonishing face, a firm chin, a classic nose, and an incredibly sensuous mouth.

Yet he was also coldly furious. His beautiful blue eyes blazed, and his jaw was as tight as a harp string. A red flush covered his face, a vein protruded from his neck, and his hands were knotted so firmly that he seemed tempted to strike someone. So magnificent was his rage that even fearless Jennifer had trouble responding. Having no brothers and few male acquaintances, she knew nothing of men or their tempers, nor did she have the first idea of how to calm him. He seemed to be fighting to control his anger, and Jennifer prayed that he would be successful. In a moment, she seemed to get her wish, for the florid suffusion of his face faded and wonder replaced the wrath. He stared at Jennifer in disbelief, then leaned closer, as if not certain he could trust his own eyes.

“Miss,” he asked, his voice rich with astonishment, “what in God’s name have you done with your hair?”

Jennifer’s hand flew to her tresses, and she self-consciously
fingered the fried bangs. Flushing crimson, she tried to smooth them to one side. To her credit, she never lost her composure.

“I had a little accident with the curling iron.” She shrugged, as if such happenings were commonplace, then rose to confront him. His arms were still braced against the table on either side of her waist, but she determinedly ignored them, as well as the heat she could feel from the intimacy of his stance. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

She had audacity. Fury died in him as he saw her gallant attempt to remain in control. He had to admit he was surprised at her appearance, and not just because of her hair. Gabriel didn’t know what he’d expected, but a gypsy with earrings and tattered clothing would probably have suited better than this trio of attractive young ladies and a little old woman who looked like everyone’s grandmother. The latter appeared terrified; nevertheless, she stood up, clutching her salts bottle, and stared him down like an aging mother hen determined to save her chicks.

“Mr. Forester, I believe you’ve had your say. I must ask you to leave my house this minute! This is disgraceful, barging in here and accusing my niece of some kind of sorcery … I know your mother, and she would be ashamed to think her son behaved in such a manner!”

“Come, Auntie,” Winifred said, sending Gabriel a scornful look and putting her arm around the elderly lady, who was trembling. “Please don’t upset yourself so. He’s not worth it. I’ll get you some tea. Mr. Forester, please remove yourself before we return.” With a dignified air, she led Eve to the kitchen.

Embarrassment flooded through Gabriel. He thought of himself as a gentleman, and had a reputation as such. He wasn’t used to upsetting sweet old ladies. He could scarcely imagine his mother’s reaction when she heard, and he winced at the thought. His mortified gaze swept back to Jennifer.

“I’m sorry to have upset your aunt, but I have no intention of going anywhere without my mother’s money,” he said meaningfully, pleased to see that in spite of her obstinate stance, there was a tremor in her pretty hands. “She told me that she paid you, and I want that money returned.”

“Mrs. Forester came here of her own free will,” Jennifer declared. “She understood my fee, and contracted me for a reading. There are many other spiritualists in New York, and she could have made these arrangements with anyone. I provided her with direction, comfort, and sympathy, which she seemed to need badly. She was considering ending her life when she came here, and I am proud to say I was able to give her a reason to live. She chose to pay me more than my fee, but that was her decision. If her money isn’t worth her life to you, then I think you need to reexamine your own values.”

His rage returned, intensified by her implication that he had failed his mother. Gabriel was so furious that for a moment, he couldn’t speak. When he finally managed to get the words out, they were a growl through clenched teeth. “Miss, my patience is nearly exhausted. I was hoping to be able to reason with you, but I can see that is impossible. You have bilked my mother out of her money under the most vile of pretexts, using the love she had for her late husband as bait. That I cannot abide. The money aside, I can neither stand by and see you succeed in such a way, nor watch you continue cheating others like this. As if someone could really contact the dead! Miss, you will hear from my attorney!” With that, Gabriel slammed the door behind him, and the whole house trembled.

Outside, the chill air did little to cool Gabriel’s rage. He stood on the street, glaring at the spooky gothic house, wishing to hell that Jennifer Appleton were a man so he could wring her neck. But she wasn’t a man, she was a woman, and a charming one at that.

He had to stop her. She’d practically admitted that she was a fake when she tried to justify her fee to him. But she never once claimed to have seen his father, nor to be able to contact the dead. She was more clever than most fortune-tellers, in that she stuck as close to the truth as possible. That in itself would make her hard to convict in court.

His fists tightened as he recalled the other things she’d said. His mother, suicidal! Anxiety swept through him, immediately replaced by renewed outrage. Of course she was making that up. If his mother had been depressed, he would have known. While it was true that Mary hadn’t been herself, she hadn’t seemed that upset. Guilt knotted his stomach, and he immediately pushed aside the notion. No, Jennifer was just using his self-blame and his concern for his mother, knowing that it would confuse him. Like any worthy opponent, she held a good card and knew how to play it.

He saw her shadow pass in front of the curtains. Her dark silhouette was curvaceous and enticing, something he hadn’t wanted to notice in the house and didn’t want to notice now. He saw her pause at the lamp, her face illuminated by the light, and he thought it the loveliest picture he’d ever seen. Even though her sister was more classically beautiful, it was Jennifer’s fire and personality that made her so bewitching—something she obviously knew, he thought. And used. So intent was he on watching her that he didn’t notice the policeman who strolled up the walk.

“Can I help you, laddie?”

Gabriel winced at the brogue, then turned toward the man. He was a burly, ruddy-faced Irishman. White hair peeped from beneath his cap, and heavy jowls resided beside a stern mouth. His nightstick twirled as he paused beneath the streetlight and looked curiously at Gabriel.

“No. I mean, I was just trying to straighten out a business matter.”

The policeman’s expression became suspicious as he took in Gabriel’s expensive coat and polished shoes. He glanced toward the house. His eyes widened at the sight of Jennifer’s softly curving silhouette.

“I see. Business matter? Why don’t you come along with me to the station, laddie.”

Gabriel pulled his arm away. “You don’t understand! Do you realize that these women are charlatans? They say they can contact the dead!”

“The dead, you say? Look, fella, I don’t want no trouble, but there’s been reports of a Peeping Tom in this neighborhood. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“I most certainly do mind! I am a law-abiding citizen, and these women are taking advantage of poor, innocent people! If you did your job, this wouldn’t go on!”

The policemen turned beet red, and Gabriel suddenly questioned his own wisdom. But it was too late. The officer blew a whistle, and was quickly joined by an equally burly comrade who took Gabriel’s opposite arm.

“But!—”

“You can explain it all to the chief, lad. Now, we don’t want to have to use force, but resisting arrest is a serious charge. Come along quietly.”